The Dancer
by Sylvie Orp
Summary: Doyle talks himself into a murder. (Follow-on from an early story). Plus, a bonus doodle as a final chapter.
1. Chapter 1

_Following on from my story, 'The Dance' [an early story], Doyle talks himself into a murder _

Chapter 1

Bodie had finally come to terms with the fact that Doyle could dance, and was good at it too. Last year Doyle had teamed up with Bodie's girl, Esther, and had won a dance medal for their Blacktown Youth Club – to the surprise and delight of Bodie and other friends and colleagues who were there to witness the event at a national competition. The youth club were entering another competition. A local one this time, not the grand national they'd won last year. Bodie told Esther and Ray that this time round it shouldn't be so scary. They'd walk it. Doyle wasn't so sure but didn't want anyone there to watch.

Bodie did go to the dance however to spur them on. It was a successful night. More silverware for Blacktown; more pride to pin on the wall. Even Bodie had taken to the dance floor, after the awards had been handed out, with Esther in his arms – though he wouldn't dance with anyone else, despite the teenage girls queuing up for their turn, much to the delight of Bodie's ego! As he was spinning Esther round the floor for the third dance he noticed, not for the first time, a young lad looking lost and unhappy. He guessed that his girl had dragged him here against his better judgement and then left him stranded. Bodie pointed him out to Esther and she'd sympathised. She was going to offer him the next dance but, to their astonishment, Doyle got there first. In the middle of a fast number, he'd elegantly slipped away from the raving teenage nymphomaniac he was enclutched with and scooped the lad up and along the dance floor. It turned out that boy was a dancer after all, and a good one too. The smile on his face was beatific. Held in Doyle's arms, the boy was on Cloud Nine and in the highest heavens he could ever imagine. Soon – too soon for the boy concerned – the music stopped and everyone staggered back to their tables for a breather.

"Who was the hunk you were dancing with?" Bodie gasped, still looking surprised and grinning broadly. Before Doyle could draw breath to respond, Bodie added, "I never knew you were that way, Ray. You are a dark horse! What _does_ go on at this youth club of yours, eh?"

"Leave it out," Doyle snarled.

"Stop teasing him," Esther admonished, smiling.

Doyle shelved his tetchiness for Esther's sake and explained, "That's Zack. He's feeling all of his teenage angst at the moment. Added to which, yes, _he_'s that way and hasn't found the man of his dreams yet."

"Er, Ray, I think he has mate!" Bodie winked at Doyle's embarrassment and noted that his friend didn't disagree with him.

Bodie and Esther cast a glance across the room but could no longer see the lad.

"There's a club I've mentioned to him, but as far as I know he hasn't gone there yet. Too shy to go anywhere new on his own."

"By 'club' you mean - ?"

"Yeah, Bodie. I do mean a gay club. And, before you ask, there were a couple on my beat near there, ok."

Bodie raised his hands in a placating gesture, but with a broad grin on his face. He did his best to look unconvinced that Doyle's presence at a gay club, and in a police uniform, was purely professional!

...

A few weeks later Doyle was woken from a deep sleep by the incessant ringing of the bedside phone.

"Yeah."

"4.5 – a Detective Inspector Wallace wants to speak to you urgently."

It took a few moments for Doyle's tired brain to dredge up the man in question. "Put him on."

"Ray, sorry to disturb you."

"Do you know what time it is?" Doyle had automatically looked at the clock when he'd answered the phone. It was nearly 2 am.

"We've got a body here we can't identify and we think you can."

Doyle's heart skipped a beat. He sat up sharply. No, if it were Bodie, Wallace would have gone through Cowley.

"What makes you think I can help?" he asked guardedly.

"The guy had no ID but did have a photo on him which the attending officer recognised."

"Oh yeah," said Doyle, still rubbing sleep from his eyes and brain, "who's that then? The Prime Minister?"

"No, you."

That woke up Doyle like a bucket of cold water. "Hold on, Stan, are you telling me that this person was walking round with a photo of me in his back pocket?"

"It was in his inside jacket pocket actually, but can you come over? I'll send a car for you."

"No, it's ok. I know where you live. I'll be over to the station in about 15 minutes." Doyle didn't give out his personal address even to trusted police officers.

While dragging some clothes on, Doyle mulled over his conversation with Wallace. The only reason he could think of for anyone to carry his photo was that he was a target for a hit man. It didn't make him feel any better as he headed off into the night. He held off updating base though till he'd got more information. Despite a circuitous route, he made it to the station on the deserted roads in ten minutes and was greeted by a familiar desk sergeant. The reception was as empty as the streets outside.

"Quiet night?" Doyle asked while waiting for Wallace.

"So-so."

The sergeant was about to expand when Wallace came in and led Doyle through well known corridors and out across the backyard to the mortuary. Doyle was intrigued but still very cautious about whom he'd be asked to identify. He hadn't yet asked for details. One thing at a time. Wallace said nothing on their walk and they were met by a pathologist whom Doyle hadn't yet come across. Wallace explained to her who Doyle was and the corpse was duly shown to him. She gently slid the sheet back. Doyle looked down at the peaceful face of Zack. His heart lurched. The lad was barely at shaving age and so much of his life should have been in front of him. Wallace saw the pity and sadness in Doyle's mobile face. They'd worked together and, not for the first time, Wallace wondered how Doyle did the job he did – or even chose profession he did – as he was so sensitive to hurt and other people's pain. After a moment's silence Doyle looked up and into the faces of pathologist and DI.

"Zack Dudley," Doyle confirmed sadly. "Aged about 17, barely out of nappies."

The pathologist covered the face again.

"Address?" asked Wallace.

Doyle shook his head. "Dunno, but he's a member of the youth club in Blacktown. There'll be details on his membership form. I'll meet you at the club after I go home and get the keys to the place." Doyle's eyes never left the corpse, covered though it was. Wallace smiled inwardly. No matter the circumstances, Doyle was always by the book and always cautious. He still wasn't going to give his address away. Being a member of CI5, Wallace understood. Doyle gave the address of the club and asked how Zack had died. There were no obvious fatal injuries.

"A single blow to the back of the head with a cleaver – the business end of a cleaver."

Doyle whistled through his teeth. "Witnesses?"

Wallace shook his head sadly. "He was discovered by a workman going home off shift. He thought the boy was drunk but fortunately phoned us anyway."

Wallace turned to the pathologist. Reading his mind, she said, "He's been dead about two hours."

"Effects?" Doyle asked.

Wallace led Doyle to a table on the other side of the room where there were several plastic bags. In one were a cheap ring and an even cheaper watch. In another was a collection of loose change and a door key, and the third held Doyle's photo. It was creased and had obviously been in the lad's possession for a while. There was nothing written on the back.

"Robbery could be the motive as his wallet's missing, but it seems excessive for a mugging. I'm also intrigued about the photo." Wallace let the sentence hang like a question.

"I'm intrigued too," said a worried Doyle.

"Where was it taken?"

"It looks to be outside the youth club. And before you ask, no I didn't know it had been taken."

"Well, it doesn't look like a posed shot to me, Ray, but I'd like to know how he got it and why he was carrying it."

_So would I_, thought Doyle, _and whether there are any others_.

They met up, as Doyle had suggested, at the club. Wallace had a WPC in tow. Doyle opened up and led them confidently to an office at the end of a warren of corridors. Once Zack's address was confirmed it was now a matter of breaking the news to his parents. Doyle was about to leave them to it but Wallace wanted Doyle there in the capacity of a friend of Zack. It may help if the parents had any questions. Doyle reluctantly agreed and they set off in separate cars. On the way, Doyle radioed in to let base know what was going on – not that Doyle had too much idea himself. He was relieved that he'd held off contacting HQ until now, and hadn't sent hares racing by announcing that a hit man could be after him!


	2. Chapter 2

_Broken news_

Chapter 2

When coppers turn up on your doorstep in the dead of night looking like undertakers – and one being female – then you know that the news isn't going to be good. Mr and Mrs Dudley looked from one face to another and the awful certainty of it all began to sink in before any words were spoken. Mrs Dudley put a hand to her face and Mr Dudley stared at Doyle as though he'd seen a ghost.

"You," he whispered.

It was an odd reaction in any circumstances; in these circumstances it was positively bizarre.

"May we come in?" asked Wallace, and the Dudleys led them inside. Mrs D- was already sobbing and on the point of collapse before they'd reached the lounge. DI Wallace made cursory introductions while WPC Fletcher silently slipped into the kitchen like a well trained butler and put the kettle on. It was going to be a long night. Wallace broke the news to them as gently as he could and Doyle was unnerved by Mr Dudley still staring at him. He was compelled to ask.

"Do you know me from somewhere, sir?"

"My son does."

Doyle was quietly relieved that this was all it was, until he realised that Mr D- couldn't know exactly what Doyle looked like even if Zack had described him.

"I don't understand."

"I found this on the kitchen floor yesterday," he said, getting up and fetching something from behind the clock on the mantelpiece. It was another photo of Doyle – a different one. "I was going to ask Zack about it, but never got the chance. He's here and there at once. Perhaps you know what teens are like, Mr Doyle. I need to know why you gave him the photo."

"I didn't give it to him, Mr Dudley. I've never seen it before and I'd like to know where he got it from, too. I don't think it's been explained to you really who I am." Doyle hoped that that didn't sound like a rebuke to Wallace. "I help to run the Blacktown Youth Club and I know Zack from there."

"But you're white," interjected Mr Dudley in confusion.

Despite everything, Doyle smiled. "There are two reasons for the club, Mr Dudley. One, to give the lads something constructive to do rather than them being out on the streets and getting into trouble. Two, to integrate the communities. The club doesn't belong to the blacks or the whites, or the pinks or greys, it belongs to everyone."

Doyle's sincerity hit home, not only to the Dudleys, but to the police too. They could all see the spark of enthusiasm and earnestness in Doyle's face as he leaned forward to emphasise his words. They nodded. Doyle apologised to the general assembly. "Sorry, this isn't a time for grand sermons."

There was something else Doyle had to say to Zack's parents, but he felt that Wallace needed to get on with his investigations. After all, it was his case not Doyle's. Wallace asked the usual initial questions about Zack's friends and enemies, his habits, his haunts, etc. A picture of a lonely, unhappy teenager emerged; staying out till all hours, refusing to say why, going who knows where with who knew who. The only time he was relaxed, it seemed, was when he was playing his music at home (too loudly!) or at the club. He'd started to make a few friends there and taken dancing lessons, but no friends they could think of from college. He wasn't a bright pupil and tried to bunk off as much as possible. His parents had despaired of him ever getting enough grades to get a job – or any grades at all. That was all academic now of course; a fact that hadn't escaped their grieving notice. As Doyle watched their misery he wondered when, if ever, there'd be a good time to break the news to them. Wallace would need to know and therefore the parents too – in time. It could be relevant. The DI wrapped up his initial questions and said that their son would have to be formally identified but they'd be notified in due course of when and where that would happen. There'd have to be a post mortem, too. Wallace then looked at Fletcher and Doyle to ask if there was anything further and, if not, could they look at Zack's bedroom. It had to be now. Doyle took a deep breath and looked at each parent in turn.

"Were you aware that Zack had leanings towards his own sex? Did he ever bring a boyfriend home?"

The shock on their faces said it all. The cold temperature in the room turned instantly to freezing. Doyle wanted the ground to open up. He didn't have the courage to look at Wallace. He was sure he'd find anger there. Why hadn't Doyle told him first before they came to the house? Too late for that now.

"Was he bullied because of his tendency?" Doyle pushed, digging himself in deeper.

Shock turned to anger in Mr Dudley's face. Doyle thought he was going to be banished from the house – or battered to a pulp in front of the police. Then the anger passed and Mr D- closed his eyes momentarily. Opening them, he said quietly, "I was beginning to suspect. When I saw the photo I assumed that it was his boyfriend. Are you, Mr Doyle, his boyfriend?" The last words were slowly and painfully hammered out one by one.

"No, Mr Dudley," Doyle responded quietly, "I'm not Zack's boyfriend. I'm not gay myself, but in my job I recognise it in others. I think that was why Zack was afraid to make friends. He didn't want to give himself away and he hadn't yet learned to recognise men of his own kind. Adolescence is a very difficult time for most kids. For those who are gay, I imagine that it's a hundred times worse."

Mr Dudley was too choked to speak but nodded. Mrs Dudley spoke to him for the first time. "You do understand, don't you? I mean without prejudice?"

"I try to understand, Mrs Dudley. There are so many labels that hang around people's necks – labels they never put there themselves. The club tries to break down those labels; those prejudices."

"Judge not, lest ye too should be judged," quoted Mr Dudley softly to himself.

"Let he who is without sin cast the first stone," joined in DI Wallace.

Doyle hoped they weren't going to get into a prayer meeting. He looked at the WPC to see if she had a Biblical aphorism to throw in. She just looked embarrassed. Doyle thought it time to see the lad's bedroom but it wasn't his place to start ordering people about. He looked at Wallace and hoped he'd take the hint. Fortunately he did and they all rose together. There wouldn't be enough room for all of them, so Doyle said he'd stay downstairs with Mrs Dudley and make some more tea. It was none of his business anyway. Left alone with her, Doyle apologised for bringing up the subject of Zack's sexuality. She nodded, saying, "I suppose it had to come up at some point. Better said than implied. Get it out in the open. Is that why he was killed – because of that? Wasn't his colour enough?" She sounded very bitter.

"We have no idea why he was killed Mrs Dudley. I'm not part of the investigation team and it's very early days yet. If you want my unofficial, off the record view, I think Zack happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. But if I could go back to his proclivity. What's your view, Mrs Dudley? I mean, if Zack had told you about it, what would you and your husband have said?"

"If you're asking whether we'd have thrown him out of the house, you're wrong." Doyle shook his head and she was encouraged to add, "He's our son, Mr … Mr"

"Doyle."

"Mr Doyle – right or wrong, for better or for worse, gay or straight. We just want him home!" She then broke into bitter sobbing. Doyle folded his arms around her and felt her shuddering against his chest. He didn't like to count the number of times he'd done this in other shocked and grieving households.

They pulled away slowly when they heard the trio come downstairs. Wallace had with him various items in a large evidence bag. He had clearly come prepared. There being no further questions they left with handshakes and goodbyes. Doyle still felt bad about his faux pas. Wallace would not be happy. He wasn't. He ordered Fletcher to the car and followed Doyle to his.

"You don't need to tell me, Stan. I'm sorry. I should have told you before we went in. Me and my size 10s. Christ, I should be better at interview than that."

"Well, since you've brought your own hair shirt, I won't rub it in. But I am not best pleased, Ray, not best pleased at all."

"I know. I was clumsy. I'm sorry."

"It's fortunate that they took it well. Did Mrs Dudley have anything to say that I should know about?" The barb was well aimed.

Doyle shook his head. "She said that she and her husband had suspected that all wasn't usual on the romance front, but that if Zack had announced his sexuality they'd have accepted it. They wouldn't have thrown him out or strung him up."

Wallace nodded, not sure yet whether to believe her. It was all rather academic at the moment any way.

"What did you find in the bedroom? Sorry, not my place to ask. It's your case, Stan. I'll not interfere." Doyle thought he may get a couple of hours sleep before reporting for CI5 duty, and turned towards the car door.

"Well, Ray, you may not be able to walk away from this one just yet."

Doyle turned back. "What do you mean?"

Dudley fished in his pocket for a latex glove and gave it to Doyle, who slipped it on. The DI then handed over the evidence bag. Doyle looked at him for a few moments trying to read his face before taking the bag off him. Doyle's car was parked under a street lamp so he could see what he was fishing out of the bag. He spread the contents out onto the bonnet. There were a dozen or so black and white photographs – all of Doyle. He went cold and looked sideways at Wallace who looked sternly back. It was clear that he wanted answers and explanations. Doyle hadn't got any. He took a deep breath and tried to be objective. He looked at each photo carefully, studying the backgrounds, and sorted them out into three lots.

"These," he said taking the first pile, "were taken outside the club." Taking the next batch, he announced, "These were taken outside the Mecca Ballroom where the national dance competition was held last year. And these," taking the final set, "well, I've no idea where these were taken."

"And you've no idea that they were taken at all?"

"Course not. I know it doesn't say much for my observational skills or aptitude for CI5 but, no, I didn't know Zack was taking pictures of me or that he was so obsessed. Or, come to think of it, how long he'd been doing it." Doyle felt stupid and, for some reason, frightened. He looked in the bag for anything else. There were a few notebooks which Wallace said looked like diaries. Doyle didn't like to speculate what Zack had written in them. Bodie's comment about Zack already finding the man of his dreams hit home.

"Where's the camera?"

"What?" asked Wallace.

"Well, Zack's taken these with something – and had them developed somewhere."

Clearly this hadn't yet occurred to Wallace. It did vindicate Doyle slightly. He was thinking more quickly than Wallace, who was no plodder in Doyle's opinion. Taking one of the photos at random and examining the back of it he said, "These haven't been processed at a chemists; they've been developed privately in a back room somewhere. It's poor quality paper and there's no company stamp on them."

"Yes, thank you, Ray. When we need your input, I'll call for you."

Doyle muttered another apology and looked sheepish as he put the photos back in the bag. Wallace shook Doyle's shoulder. "Truce?" Wallace suggested. Doyle looked into the older man's face, a slight smile on his lips. "Truce," he agreed wondering how much to tell Cowley and Bodie when he reported for his 'real' job in a few hours' time.


	3. Chapter 3

_Doyle talks himself into a murder he didn't commit_

Chapter 3

Doyle was a few minutes late for his morning's assignment – a rare event, but one that never went down well with Cowley. Doyle was out of breath, having rushed up five flights of stairs, the lift being out of order – again. Bodie was already sat in front of his boss. He turned as his mate entered, looking like something the cat had dragged in. Bodie tutted, with a smile on his lips. Cowley tutted too, but a smile wouldn't dare go near those lips in Cowley's temper. Doyle eased himself into a chair, sensing the mood. He knew that Cowley would have looked at the duty log that had noted the 2am phone call. He knew too that all calls going through HQ switchboard were recorded. Putting two and two together, he deduced that Cowley would have listened to his conversation above any others. Ergo: come clean. He could ask his partner to leave while they had a 'wee chat' (a Cowley euphemism which covered anything from a cosy tête-à-tête round the fire, to a physical interrogation where no-one heard you scream). However, Doyle wanted to be as open with Bodie as he was going to be with Cowley. He was sharp and would have already worked out that something was afoot. Doyle brought them both up to date, finishing with drawing a paper out of his pocket.

"I've written up a statement, sir. Wallace didn't ask for one last night, but he will at some point. I thought you should have a copy of it. It just states everything I've told to you now."

Cowley took it off him but didn't look at it as he put it in a file with some other papers – and Doyle would have loved to know what those papers were.

"So," Cowley started after a moment's contemplation, "how long do you think young Zack had been stalking you?"

"Not stalking, sir. He hadn't a car. That means the photos I was unable to identify must be local – local to the youth club."

Not wishing to turn the screws, Bodie was compelled to point out, "The Mecca Ballroom wasn't local, Ray."

"Thanks, Bodie," Doyle said sarcastically. "But it was well known at the club that I'd be there, so he could have got a bus."

Bodie apologised. Even to Doyle it sounded sincere.

"Did you see him there?" Cowley asked.

"He could well have been there, sir, but I didn't know Zack at that point so I wouldn't have recognised him."

Cowley asked some further questions of when Zack had joined the club and how often he attended. Doyle said that he himself was at the youth club as often as he could be when it was first being set up then, once it got on its feet, he'd played a more back seat role. His current attendance there now was about once a month. He didn't often see Zack there. Cowley wondered how Doyle, in the early stages, had found the time and the energy to set up the place. He made a mental note to look at Doyle's work over the period. He didn't expect to see any carelessness but he'd be interested to note how much CI5 work his agent had managed – and whether Bodie had seemed to be covering for him. He asked how often he'd met Zack and whether he was aware of the lad's tendency.

"I've been trying to remember that, and to remember who brought Zack to the club in the first place. Some people come in on their own, others are brought by friends, and I'm sure that Zack came with someone. I noticed from the membership card I looked at last night that it was me who filled out the form, so obviously I met him then –"

"But you don't remember?" Cowley pressed.

Doyle looked embarrassed. "It was over a year ago, sir, and we do have a healthy membership. I've also been trying to remember when I saw him after that. The best I can remember is that I met him twice after that."

"Both times at the club?" Bodie asked.

Doyle nodded. "I'll ask Esther and the other mentors if they remember any other occasions."

"I don't think you need to go into such depth, Doyle. Wallace –"

"I'm suspect number one, sir – in fact, I wouldn't be surprised if I'm the only suspect," Doyle commented despairingly.

"I think you're getting yourself worked up, Doyle," Cowley rumbled.

But his agent stuck to his guns and shook his head. "Look at it from Wallace's point of view, sir – or any copper's point of view working on the case." His audience waited. "I had the motive, the opportunity and the means. And you only need one of those to start to build a case – I've got all three!"

"What –"

"Explain," Cowley and Bodie said together.

"Well, according to the pathologist, Zack died about midnight. I was at home in bed. The 2 o'clock call woke me up. I was alone and therefore without witness. Opportunity. Motive? There were notebooks in the evidence bag. Wallace thought they maybe diaries. Since – it seems – he had an obsession, it doesn't take a leap of the imagination to think what he may have written in there. They could be dismissed as mere ravings of teenage hormones, but what if Zack wrote that we were having an affair?"

"Come on, Doyle. I think I'd know if you were kinky," Bodie defended loyally.

"Thanks," Doyle replied sincerely, "but I need more than a character witness. It could even be suggested somewhere along the line that he had been blackmailing me – threatening to spill the imaginary beans – and I bumped him off to shut him up."

"I think you're running away with yourself," Cowley admonished, though he did think that Doyle had a point.

"Means? Well, I wouldn't be in CI5 if I couldn't handle myself."

"With a machete?!" Bodie spluttered.

"Anything more subtle would point towards CI5. The crudeness of a cleaver [Doyle liked to get things right] would divert away from CI5."

"Doyle, do you want any more rope to hang yourself with, or do you have enough?" Cowley asked dryly. Bodie smirked despite the serious direction of Doyle's discourse.

"I'm just saying – "

"Well don't," Cowley said firmly. "Wallace can work things out for himself. If he starts sniffing round you, let me know."

Before Doyle could respond Bodie asked, "Aside from you getting up in the middle of the night and slaying a perfectly innocent member of the public, can you think of anyone else who'd want to kill Zack?"

Cowley hadn't yet reached that question. It was a good and valid one.

"No, but then I didn't know Zack very well – or at all." He was going to add 'if I'm to be believed' but thought his hair shirt needed a break. "If his assailant wasn't known to him, then that leaves a very nasty alternative."

"Which is?" asked Cowley.

"A serial killer."

Bodie spluttered again. "Come on, Doyle. That's as fanciful as you doing the deed!"

"So you think it's the butler?"

"Carry on," Cowley encouraged. Doyle's theories – however seemingly fantastic – were always worth listening to.

"Well Mrs Dudley asked me, while Wallace was in Zack's bedroom, whether Zack's colour or leanings had led to his death. I told her that I wasn't part of the investigation team but that my personal opinion was no to both motives. I obviously don't have the resources Wallace has, or the information he'll be gathering in, but the reason I don't think it's racially motivated is that the bastards who think it ok to bash up anyone who doesn't conform to their way of thinking – blacks, disabled, gays, etc – usually hunt in packs. I've obviously not seen the PM report but the pathologist only mentioned the single blow to the back of Zack's head, suggesting one assailant. There was a bruise on his face, but that could well be when he hit the ground afterwards. So I don't think hate is the reason. That leaves either a vendetta – ie a motivated attack – or a lone wolf – which means he could strike again."

"Have you expounded your theory to Wallace?" asked Cowley, who was taking this very seriously. He glanced at his other agent. Bodie was also following his every word.

Doyle shrugged. "Wallace already told me to back off and he's right. It's not my case. Wallace is a diligent copper, sir. He'll be looking at me, of course, but he'll also be keeping an open mind about other possibilities."

"I'm glad about that," commented a relieved Bodie.

"I'm not off the hook, Bodie."

"No, but –"

"Doyle, have you had any sleep at all?"

The question was unexpected and took Doyle off balance. Before he could come up with an answer, Cowley told Bodie to take him home. "Here," he added, pushing a box in Doyle's direction as his men stood. "Take one of those – just the one, mind. It'll help you to sleep. I want the rest back."

"I'm all right – "

"You're as keyed up as a virgin at Hogmanay."

Bodie laughed and even Doyle smiled as he took the box. He looked at the product as they got in the car. They were strong painkillers. The Old Man probably took them for his leg. They would certainly knock out anyone who wasn't used to them. 'May cause drowsiness' the label had warned. 'May cause total unconsciousness', Doyle mentally corrected. He asked Bodie if he could stay over at his place. He'd want someone to wake him up the next morning! Bodie readily agreed, adding, "I don't suppose you've had breakfast, have you?"

"Suppose not," Doyle reluctantly admitted. Bodie smiled as they turned into his apartment car park and mentally reviewed his store cupboard.


	4. Chapter 4

_Resources are pooled_

Chapter 4

Cowley decided to let nature take its course. He didn't contact Wallace to try out Doyle's theory. Doyle had been told to back off and Cowley would too. He didn't want to be accused of hindering a murder investigation – it wouldn't look good for Doyle if it ever came to court. Let Mohammed come to the mountain. Cowley was, as usual, right. As he was making an early day of it – it was just after 6 – Betty informed him that DI Wallace had arrived. Cowley hadn't met the man before and was intrigued to see him. They shook hands as they weighed each other up. Cowley persuaded Wallace to come to his club where they could have a discreet conversation and a spot of dinner. Wallace had never been to a gentlemen's club before and did wonder what went on there. If he expected the boisterous excesses of a Wodehouse novel, he was disappointed. The polished silence enfolded them as they went into one of the immaculate drawing rooms prior to dinner. Wallace felt the need to whisper so as not to startle the silence. He started off quietly.

"I don't know how much Ray has told you Major Cowley about a murder we had yesterday – well the early hours of this morning actually."

"The death of Zack Dudley being around midnight," Cowley added pedantically.

"I see he's kept you in the picture." Wallace seemed relieved. It saved a lot of explanation.

Cowley didn't mention that Doyle had copied his statement for him to read, nor the internal business of recorded phone calls. "Yes. He thought it best to tell me. He thought that you may be calling round and he didn't want me to be in the dark when you did."

Wallace got the impression that young Doyle would be hung, drawn and quartered if he ever dared to keep this man in the dark about anything.

"He also told me that he felt he was the prime suspect." Cowley was fishing.

"To be frank with you Major Cowley, he's the only damn suspect. Now I've worked with Ray and I know – or as much as any man can know – that he's not gay. But even if we take that factor out of the equation, we're still left with means and opportunity."

"And motive."

"Motive?" This was news to Wallace.

Cowley outlined Doyle's reasons why he was the poster boy for the crime.

"Have you not beaten suicidal tendencies out of him yet, Major?!"

They exchanged smiles. "Well, I do try to keep him away from long ropes and sharp knives!"

They were called to dinner and continued the conversation over a very delicious beef Wellington and an even more delicious wine. Cowley said that he'd claim it on expenses when Wallace offered to pay his share. He then put forward Doyle's other theories that, as it wasn't him, then it could be a vendetta or a lone wolf.

"I don't like the sound of that lone wolf theory. Wolves are buggers to find – no motive. We're looking into a vendetta of course, but haven't found anything yet."

"I'm not one to interfere – "

"Oh, I'm all ears Major. I won't let pride get in the way of a lead."

Cowley nodded approvingly. Doyle's faith in this man wasn't misplaced. "Well, don't get too excited but Doyle's suggestions have brought in results before."

"Oh, I know that Major. His leaps of the imagination leave us plodders standing – and he's often right too. I think the bugger's got second sight! So, what's he got?"

Cowley smiled with secret pride. "Well, just that a lone wolf may get a taste for blood."

"He thinks," Wallace leaned forward conspiratorially, dragging his tie through his apple charlotte, "that we may have a serial killer?"

"Fanciful, I know but –"

"Well, they do exist Major, but I'm afraid to disappoint you both but we don't have a morgue full of bodies."

Cowley wasn't to be dismissed. "One moment," he said getting up. Coming back to the table he led Wallace to another panelled room for a nice spot of port. They chatted about this and that for a while and Wallace was wondering when it would be polite to leave. Cowley was gleaning all kinds of background information on his agent Doyle. It had been a very successful evening. A flunky came in and whispered something in the Major's ear. He made excuses to Wallace and left. He came back shortly with Doyle in tow.

"Since Doyle hasn't been charged with anything, I don't think it's breaking the rules is it that we have a wee chat with him here?" Cowley asked, knowing the answer already.

Wallace was a little taken off balance and Doyle was angry against the Cow for unsettling the DI.

"Now Doyle, sit you down. Mr Wallace and I were having a chat about –" The Cow was interrupted by a waiter wafting in with a tea tray. After he was dismissed and Cowley took the role of 'mother', pouring out for all of them, he continued. "We were expounding your serial killer theory."

It was Doyle's turn to be unsettled. He hoped that Cowley wasn't trying to give Wallace the impression that he was an expert on the subject. "Well, it was only a theory, sir. I don't know very much about it."

Wallace felt sorry for him. Cowley would be a difficult man to work with, and even worse to work under.

"No, but we'd like to hear what you do have to say."

Doyle wished, belatedly, that he hadn't said anything at all as he looked at the two men gazing back at him expectedly.

"Well, it's just that Zack seemed to have only that one injury which suggests that he wasn't done over." He paused in case Wallace wanted to correct him. He remained quiet. "That would further suggest," he ploughed on, "that he wasn't attacked by a gang. It also suggests that the deed was so quick that Zack didn't know anything about it and didn't fight back, so there'd be little forensics." He again paused in case Wallace had anything to add so far. But it was Cowley who interrupted.

"But we don't have other cases, do we, of a death like this?" For Doyle's benefit, the question was aimed at Wallace who confirmed again that Zack was the only death he was aware of.

Doyle had got over his embarrassment and got into his stride. "There aren't as many serial killers around as Joe Public thinks. They're a rare breed." He was encouraged by Wallace nodding thoughtfully. "I haven't come across one personally but they're not all psychopaths, and not all psychopaths are murderers. Killers can stick to their own patch – which, I would imagine, makes them comparatively easier to find – the Yorkshire Ripper, the Suffolk Strangler, and so on." His audience nodded that they were following him so far. "But then there's the nationwide wolf who must be even harder to find. One who kills for kicks in different parts of the country. He could be a lorry driver, for instance, or a sales rep. He does someone in, gets a taste for it, and then decides to make a career of it. The cleaver killer could be a local, or he could be from – well, anywhere."

"Not even UK, eh?" asked Wallace, his heart sinking.

"Sorry," Doyle muttered, sympathising with the DI. Doyle had just made his job a hundred times harder.

"I'll get my boss to put the word out to the districts to see if they've had a - what did you call him Ray - a cleaver killer?"

"I don't want to read that headline in tomorrow's newspapers," Cowley commented.

Wallace agreed. If they went public they'd have every nutter in the country reaching for a sharp implement in copy-cat killings. Wallace, armed with this fresh angle to work on, felt he now had a good excuse to leave.

Cowley (and Doyle) didn't hear from Wallace for a couple of days. Cowley had put Doyle on a cold case. He knew that his agent would have his mind full of the cleaver killer and that he could still be in the frame for it. So Cowley didn't want a distracted agent in the field. He'd be safer among the filing cabinets. Someone else could watch Bodie's back. When Wallace did turn up, it was again in the early evening. Seeing that – rightly or wrongly – as a sign that Wallace would like to enjoy the ambience of the club again, Cowley got his coat on and told Betty where he was going. Settling down for a pre-dinner snifter, Wallace brought him up to date. Word had gone out to the districts for any unsolved homicides fitting their MO. They had five positive responses. All the victims were male and alone at the time of the murder. No motives had been discovered. Their ages ranged from Zack at 17, to a married man with children at age 48. Zack was the only who was black and (as far as known) gay. The murders covered a five year stretch and followed no pattern as far as anyone could see.

"So Doyle was right. It is a serial killer," breathed Cowley.

"He does like giving me work, doesn't he?" moaned Wallace, but both men were proud of their colleague. Doyle's leap of imagination had worked again. They didn't know _who_ they were looking for, but they now knew _what_ they were looking for. Wallace gave Cowley the towns where the men were killed and the dates. He asked 'just for form's sake' where Doyle was on each of those occasions.

"I can tell you straightaway where he was on 20th July last year," Cowley said, scanning the list. "He was in intensive care. He was shot on the 18th."

"Poor bugger. I didn't know that."

Cowley filled him in and agreed to check 'for form's sake' on the other dates.

A few evenings later saw Cowley and Wallace in conference again at their 'office' bringing each other up to date. In the event there was only one other instance where Cowley couldn't readily account for his agent's movements. The others had witnesses. Cowley couldn't go into detail, but he assured Wallace that Doyle was on night surveillance on three occasions; at death's door for one date; which left two murders unaccounted for – Zack and a Mr John Johnson of Wisbeach. However, Cowley couldn't see how Doyle could have got to Cambridgeshire and back in the hours he was alone (or assumed alone). Wallace agreed and, to Cowley's relief, placed Doyle out of the frame and out of harm's way. Doyle was duly summoned – he was enjoying a night out with a recent girlfriend. Being called away in the middle of dinner was something she'd have to get used to. A worried Doyle was signed in by a silent Cowley. Doyle didn't know how to interpret Wallace being back at the club with the Cow. He sat down cautiously.

"Don't look so worried, Doyle," Cowley admonished pouring the ever present tea. Doyle's knots slackened slightly.

"I wouldn't say you're totally off the hook, Ray, but it's looking more and more unlikely that you suddenly got it in your head to leap out of bed and bump off an innocent civilian. Your theory of a loan wolf, however, is looking very promising."

Doyle raised his eyebrows for more information. Wallace filled him in.

"There is a huge drawback to our investigations, though."

"What's that?" asked Doyle.

"The fact that you've switched sides and I haven't got you on our team!"

"Och, hardly 'switching sides'. We're meant to be on the same side, remember? But if Doyle can be –"

"No, sir. This is Wallace's show. His team wouldn't be pleased at having me jack-booting across their enquiries."

"I wouldn't have put it quite like that," Wallace jumped in before Cowley, "but I get your point. You've shown us the right direction – "

"By chance," cut in Doyle.

"- as usual," Wallace added firmly, "so we'll run with it. We'll keep it out of the papers of course."

"Can I tell Bodie?" Doyle asked his boss.

Cowley explained to the DI who Bodie was and they agreed that he could be kept up to date since he knew the beginnings of the story and would be anxious about getting Doyle's name cleared.

...

The years stretch, the death toll steadily mounts. The DI still hasn't got his man - Doyle's imagination could only leap so far - and Joe Public still lies easy in his bed, unknowing that a lone wolf is out there somewhere in the night pondering his next move.


	5. Chapter 5

_A bit of (unrelated) nonsense to finish off with. Apologies to non-British readers who may not 'get' the references._

...

Bodie & Doyle had caught up with each other on the last day of their precious week's leave. They'd spent it, individually, catching up with sleep and with friends whom they'd been neglecting of late. Doyle was in Bodie's lounge sketching a model - Bodie - while his model read a book. They hadn't spoken for over an hour; they were like a contented married couple enjoying each other's company without the need for words. Sighing happily, Bodie tossed the book across the room, having finished it.

"Oi, that's no way to treat high art," Doyle complained, erasing some of his sketch.

Bodie grinned and had a far away look. His mind was mulling over the story he'd just read. The gentle scratching of his mate's pencil was soothing. Eventually Bodie shared his musings.

"Have you ever read Wodehouse?"

"Mmm?" Doyle murmured distractedly.

"Jeeves & Wooster."

"Oh, yeah. Years ago." Doyle was looking critically at his sketch.

"Well I can see Cowley as Jeeves."

That got Doyle's attention and he put down his sketch pad. "Cowley being a subservient servant?!" he suggested sceptically.

Bodie grinned broadly, pleased that he got one up on the professor. "Ah, that's where you're wrong." He waggled a finger in Doyle's direction.

Doyle saw the smug look on his friend's face. "Go on, amaze me." Doyle went back to his sketch.

"See, it's Jeeves who gets Wooster into a scrape in the first place through cunning and double thinks - only Wooster's too dim to see what Jeeves is up to. Then it's Jeeves who digs him out of it - and Wooster is eternally grateful."

Doyle nodded thoughtfully. "It's right - up to a point."

Bodie waited.

"I don't like the bit where Wooster - that means you and me - is too dim to see what's going on."

Bodie looked a little crestfallen. "Well, it was only a theory," he pouted.

"I'd stick to the '_Beano'_ if I were you, mate," Doyle advised.


End file.
